


Open My Eyes in the Right Way

by curlshire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Makeup, Model Harry, Modeling, i suck at tagging i am so sorry, makeup artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlshire/pseuds/curlshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is well aware of the fact that male model Harry Styles is out of his league, but what's the harm in a little teeny crush?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open My Eyes in the Right Way

**Author's Note:**

> very very brief mentions of Harry/OFC -- i'm talking four or five words. this was basically written entirely for Chelsea so.

Louis is definitely  _not_  nervous.

No, no, being nervous would be silly.  It’s just another day, just another photoshoot, just another model that Louis has to work as a makeup artist for.

Except this morning, the model happens to be Harry Styles.

Louis and Harry have been working together for almost a year now, and Harry has quickly become one of Louis’s favourite clients.  He’s funny, witty, and clever – even if his stories  _do_ tend to run on a little and his jokes  _don’t_  always make sense.  Louis would go so far as to say that Harry is a good friend of Louis’s, even if Harry wouldn’t say the same for Louis.  Harry is just…charming.  That’s all.

It’s not like Louis has a crush on Harry.

Not at all.

And Louis tells himself this as he checks himself out in the rearview mirror of his car one last time, repeats it like a mantra, as if his brain will absorb it and deem it true if he says it enough.

Louis grabs his massively heavy makeup kit and climbs out of his car (it’s admittedly quite cheap and broken-down, but it  _works_ , and that’s all that he needs).  It’s barely past six, and the sun is just barely starting to climb over the horizon.  Louis grimaces and takes another gulp of coffee, blinking rapidly as if that will help wake him up.  In retrospect, it probably wasn’t safe for him to drive when he’s so tired, but oh well.  What’s done is done.

Louis grabs his ID and flashes it to the security guard, who lets him past without so much as a second glance and leaves Louis to try and navigate through the labyrinth of halls.  He catches sight of a piece of paper taped to the walls marked ‘ _dressing rooms_ ’, and quickly follows the indicating arrows until he finds the door marked ‘ _Harry Styles_ ’.

“Oh,  _Louis_ , there you are!” Lou Teasdale, Harry’s hair stylist, says rather exasperatedly.  She grabs her kit of styling products with a huff and marches over to Louis’s side. “Maybe you can have better luck with this one.  He’s being  _a right arsehole this morning_!” Lou yells this last part over her shoulder, making sure Harry can hear her fit.

Louis catches sight of Harry’s face in the mirror, sees the way his nose crinkles with distaste. “I heard that,” he grumbles.

“You were meant to,” Lou replies before storming out of the dressing room, closing the door roughly behind her.

Louis would be a little more put-off by this if he didn’t know it to be so routine.  Harry has never liked morning photoshoots – actually, he’s never really liked mornings,  _period_  – and Lou isn’t one to put up with grumpy models.  But Louis knows that they’ll both perk up after getting a few more cups of coffee in them and, by their lunch break, they’ll be splitting chips and a Coke and joking around as usual, their little morning spat forgotten.

“Morning, Harry,” Louis greets, setting his makeup kit down on the vanity and popping it open.

“’Lo, Louis,” Harry says, voice even slower and thicker than usual in the early morning hours.

Louis smiles politely and glances up to Harry’s face, gauging his complexion to try and pick a foundation shade for him, and if he sees the way Harry’s eyes twinkle just a little brighter when he looks into them, he doesn’t say anything. “I see  _someone_  didn’t go to bed early last night,” Louis tuts, spotting the dark circles under Harry’s eyes, but there’s a warm smile on his lips as he speaks.

Harry shrugs, closing his eyes as Louis squeezes some toner onto a cotton pad and starts to gently wipe away at his smooth skin, cleaning it to prep it for makeup. “I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, trying to move as little of his face as possible to make Louis’s job a little easier.

Louis freezes as he sees the dark marks sucked into the pale flesh of Harry’s neck, and he has to swallow the little lump that forms in his throat before he can speak. “Uh huh, I can see that.” Louis says, tapping one of the love bites lightly with his index finger before swiping over it with the cotton pad.

“Busted.”

“Yep,” Louis agrees. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to hide hickeys?”

“I know you can do it.  You’re the  _best_ ,” Harry says, voice dripping with mock-adoration, and he peeks open his eyes just long enough to bat his eyelashes jokingly at Louis.

Louis throws a makeup sponge at Harry, laughing. “Oi!” he says, trying to sound even  _slightly_ offended – and failing miserably.

Harry scoops the makeup sponge up from his lap and fiddles with it absently, a smug smile on his face as he closes his eyes again to let Louis get back to work.

Louis pumps out a small puddle of foundation onto the back of his hand and picks out his softest foundation brush, because he knows it’s Harry’s favourite.  He dips the ends of the bristles into the makeup and warms it against the skin of his hand a bit, making sure it distributes evenly, before lifting the brush to Harry’s face, gliding it across his forehead and down his temple to his cheek.

“So, who was she?  Wait, no – don’t tell me, the was it that blonde from the Topshop photoshoot?” Louis asks, trying to keep his voice light and even, feigning disinterest.

“Mm-hmm,” Harry says, unable to move his lips to give a proper answer as Louis swipes the foundation brush over his chin.

Louis cringes as he remembers the pretty girl who had modeled alongside Harry a few weeks ago.  Her interest in Harry had been obvious – she might as well have glued herself to Harry’s side, she’d been so attached to him – but Louis hadn’t thought Harry had seemed that interested in her.  Evidently he’d just been kidding himself.

“Oh, atta boy,” Louis says, trying to put a joking tone in his voice as he takes the foundation across Harry’s jawline.  He has to switch to a lighter colour as he starts to work down his neck, blending the two different shades of foundation into each other just under the sharp cut of Harry’s jaw.

Harry grimaces as he tilts his head up, granting Louis easier access to his neck and jaw. “Not really, she was a bit too  _vicious_.  Had a mouth like a Hoover, that one.”

“I can see that,” Louis says as he starts to blend the foundation over the myriad of hickeys across Harry’s throat.

Harry laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the foundation brush, and Louis falters for a moment.  Harry glances down, curious to see why Louis has stopped, and Louis can only glance at him with a blank stare for a few seconds before blinking rapidly, shaking himself out of it.

“Right, on to concealer,” he says, whirling around and digging through the various tubes and pots and bottles before he finds what he’s looking for.  It’s the absolute lightest shade he has, a thick liquid concealer that dries with a matte powder finish.  He scoops up the small plastic slate he uses as a palette and squirts out a few beads of the concealer, loading it up onto a small brush before reaching forward and gingerly tilting Harry’s jaw up.

“It tickles,” Harry complains as Louis starts to pat the concealer over the dark bruises.

“Quit complaining, it’s your own fault,” Louis reminds him lightly, grabbing a sponge and using it to blend the edges of the concealer into Harry’s neck before moving on to do the same to another mark.

Harry lets out a grumpy whine but doesn’t complain any further, letting Louis tilt his neck this way and that until all the marks are hidden and his neck looks just as pale and smooth as if nothing had ever happened.

Louis taps Harry’s shoulder lightly to let him know he’s done, and Harry immediately glances into the mirror to inspect Louis’s work. “Nice,” he murmurs, nodding his approval.

Louis flashes a quick smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  He grabs a bottle of disinfectant brush cleaner and sprays it out onto a cotton pad, quickly cleaning off the brush before setting it back in his kit.  He picks out a light concealer, much thinner than the first, and squeezes the tiniest drop onto his ring finger before rubbing his ring fingers together, spreading the liquid and warming it.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs softly, and Harry obeys immediately, settling back in the chair like he’s about to get some sort of massage.  Then again, the light pressure Louis uses as he pats the concealer under Harry’s eyes might very well feel like a massage, he realizes.  He takes his time, doing each eye individually and making sure everything blends out as flawlessly as possible.  Harry seems to lean forward into his touch, looking peaceful and content as Louis smooths his finger down to the tip of Harry’s cheekbone.

Louis leans back a bit to inspect his work and gives a pleased little smile as he decide he’s satisfied with it.  To anyone who doesn’t know Harry better, they might actually think he’d gotten more a full night’s sleep.

A triumphant grin pulls at Louis’s lips as he realizes he’s finished concealing the two biggest problem areas and, at the risk of sounding vain, he’s done a wonderful job of it. “I’m a miracle worker, really.”

Harry cracks his eyes open just long enough to roll them, but his cheeks dimple with a repressed smile. “Someone’s got a big head.”

Louis pulls a face as he switches to a third concealer and grabs a small brush, moving on to the few spots that haven’t been hidden by the foundation.  He knows it’s just because Harry’s too lazy to wash this makeup off that he gets breakouts, but it’s the one thing Louis will never scold Harry for, because secretly he likes seeing the little imperfections.  The spots, the redness, the dark circles – they’re all little bits of Harry that he has to hide away from the camera, that he has to pretend not to have, and Louis likes seeing them.  It reminds him that Harry is actually a person, rather than just another disturbingly perfect model on a billboard or in a clothing ad.  Personally, he likes Harry much better without all the makeup, but he knows it’s not his place to say such things.

He takes his time, carefully dabbing the concealer in with his pinkie finger even after it’s been blended in.  Harry’s skin has improved remarkably, leaving Louis with less to cover up, but he likes this step, likes having an excuse to lean in so close to him and so freely touch any part of his face without a brush in the way.

Louis pulls back, and Harry peeks one eye open just in time to squeeze it shut again as Louis pats a powder puff all across Harry’s face and neck, buffing translucent powder into his skin to set the makeup.

Harry readjusts himself in his seat once Louis has finished with the powder, taking the opportunity to speak while Louis rifles through the makeup kit in search of his contour powder and brush. “Have you seen the outfits they want me to wear?”

Louis nods, biting back a laugh, because he doesn’t think he’s meant to laugh at his employer’s fashion taste. “It will, um…really make a statement,” he offers.

“Walking around naked would also make a statement,” Harry scoffs, and before Louis can stop himself, he pictures Harry lounging around on set completely nude, hair and makeup done perfectly, necklaces hanging down his neck and charms settled on his chest.

His ears tinge pink and he hopes he’s not blushing as deep as he thinks he is. “You should see what they’ve got the female model wearing – even the hairstyle they want to put her in is atrocious.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Louis nods. “She looks a bit like a disgruntled ostrich in pastel colours.”

Harry tosses his head back and laughs freely, and Louis beams at the sound, pleased to know he’s the one who made him laugh like that. “I can’t wait to see that.”

Louis finishes contouring his face and steps back to make sure it’s even on both sides before grabbing some highlight powder and a clean brush and getting back to work.

“Why does my makeup take so long?  I’m a  _guy_ , for crying out loud, it’s not like I need all that much makeup,” Harry mutters.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Harry, but it’s because you’ve got such an average face,” Louis says gravely.

Harry crinkles his nose despite the fact that Louis is in the middle of dusting highlight over the bridge of it. “Is that so?” he says slowly, one corner of his lip quirking up in a grin at Louis’s teasing.

Louis taps Harry’s nose with his pinkie finger as a light scold, and Harry obediently relaxes it so Louis can get back to work. “Yes, very plain.  See, what these photographers want is a boy who can look like an attractive zombie, with zero colour in his complexion and cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass.  You, however…you just look too  _normal_.”

Harry tries not to laugh so he won’t shake and throw Louis off, but his lips curl up and his dimples pull at his cheeks. “Cheekbones that could cut glass?” he repeats.

“Mm-hmm,” Louis confirms. “Yours could barely slice bread, I’m afraid.”

Harry chuckles deep in the back of his throat as Louis moves on to dust a fine layer of blush in the hollows of his cheeks, emphasizing his bone structure and bringing the life back to his face.  Louis sometimes feels a bit like an artist when he does this; he knows every inch of Harry’s face like the back of his hand after working with him for so long, knows how to contour and highlight his face to emphasize his bone structure just right.

“Okay, now for the fun part,” Louis says sarcastically as he picks up an eye shadow palette, because he knows how much Harry hates this.

Sure enough, Harry tosses his head back in a groan. “Fine, fine,” he grumbles, letting Louis adjust his head just right.

It doesn’t take very long – just a pale colour to even out the skin of his eyelids, a smokey colour in the crease, a bit of dark shadow along his lashes to make them look thicker – and soon enough all he’s got left to do is apply some eyeliner and mascara.

“Look up,” Louis says softly as he takes the cap off the freshly sharpened pencil liner.

Harry complies wordlessly, trying his best not to blink as Louis slowly smudges a precise line of brown across one waterline, then the next.

“You’ve got really nice eyes,” Harry says softly, his breath washing over Louis’s face.

Louis’s hand flinches, accidentally smearing a trail of kohl down over Harry’s tear duct. “Um, oh…thank you, Harry,” he says, his tone shaky and overly formal.  He grabs a cotton swab and dips it in makeup remover, carefully wiping away his mistake.  He’s glad the eyeliner is done, because he doesn’t think his hands are steady enough to do that again.  He picks up his eyelash curler and mascara and prays that he can at least do this without buggering it up.

“Just thought I’d mention,” Harry says casually, but there’s a little grin pulling at his lips, one that Louis can’t quite decipher.

“Thanks,” Louis repeats, swooping in to curl Harry’s lashes and comb the mascara wand through his thick lashes, trying not to admire the way Harry’s eyes look up close like this, bright and warm and clear as they stare up at Louis.

“And a nice nose.  Nice jawline too.  And you’ve got wonderful cheekbones – mind you, I don’t think you could cut  _glass_  on them or anything,” Harry teases, and now Louis  _knows_  he’s just taking the piss.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Look  _up_ ,” he says again, but he’s a little more relaxed now that Harry’s cut the tension with a joke.

Harry sighs but follows instruction, glancing up at the ceiling just long enough for Louis to finish applying mascara.

The door swings open just as Louis is throwing out the disposable mascara wand, and one of the assistants sticks his head in.

“Harry, wardrobe needs you  _now_.”

“Louis hasn’t finished putting my face on yet,” Harry drawls flatly, mirroring the assistant’s rude tone.

“Right, well, five more minutes, max,” the assistant barks, looking rather ruffled as he slams the door shut behind himself.

Louis shakes his head, rather unsettled by the assistant’s attitude. “How unprofessional of him,” he says, only half-joking.

“Tell me about it.  Some people have no respect for the talent,” Harry teases.

Louis scoops up a stick of lip balm and smooths a light layer of it over Harry’s lips.  Just as he’s finished, Harry’s tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip for just a brief second.

“Cherry,” he nods, giving a cheeky wink.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Actually, it’s strawberry.  Nice try.”

Harry’s face falls a little bit as Louis dabs the excess balm off with a tissue, folding into a slight grimace, and it takes everything Louis has not to laugh at that expression because, really, it just makes him look like a frustrated kitten.

Louis picks out another tube of concealer and squeezes out a small drop onto his index finger. “Close your mouth,” he says, and Harry complies.  He swipes the concealer across Harry’s lips, and he’s still amazed at how supple and plush Harry’s lips are.  It’s not even the lip balm that he’s just applied; Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen Harry’s mouth look chapped or dry.  And his lips are so dark and vibrant; it’s the reason Louis has to apply concealer before he can even  _think_  of applying lipstick.  Louis moves on to slight dabbing motions to blend the concealer in, but it’s too distracting.  He can feel Harry’s breath on  his hand, slow and rhythmic, can feel the way Harry’s lips, soft and plump and warm, give under his touch.  Louis stops for a moment and just looks at Harry,  _really_  looks at him – not from the perspective of a makeup artist, but just as an observer, as someone who’s fallen in love with this face, and it’s enough to make him forget where he is.

“Louis?” Harry prompts quietly, cocking his head and giving Louis a quizzical look.

“Um…yeah, just…trying to pick a shade of lipstick.” Louis lies, whirling around and pretending to dig through his makeup kit with determined vigor, when really it’s just an excuse to hide his face.  He knows exactly which colour he’s looking for, but it’s not until he’s sure he’s regained his composure that he turns around and holds it up triumphantly.

Harry pulls a face once Louis pulls off the cap and pushes the tip out of the tube. “It’s so  _girly_ ,”

“It’s what the photographer wants,” Louis justifies with a shrug.

“I think I’d call that shade, ‘ _Prostitute Pink_ ’,” Harry decides.

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t pursue a career in marketing.” Louis uses his best lip brush to get a crisp edge to Harry’s lips, taking his time, because he’ll be damned if he’s not going to do everything he can to do Harry’s lips justice for this photoshoot. “Okay, now make a little ‘o’ with your mouth, like this,” Louis says, making the same shape with his mouth for demonstration, and Harry imitates it as best he can.

“Am I done?” he asks as soon as Louis pulls the brush away from his lips.

Louis shakes his head and loads up a fluffy brush with a bit of powder, patting it over Harry’s lips to hide the creamy sheen of the lipstick. “Okay, there.   _Now_  you’re done.” He feels a little ball of sadness nestle into the pit of his stomach, though he knows it’s silly; after all, he’ll still have to hang around the set to do touchups on Harry’s makeup throughout the day.  But it’s not quite the same as it is in the mornings, when Harry’s all groggy and relaxed and alone, without any of the other assistants or departments buzzing around him.  Louis likes it better when it’s just the two of them, though he knows he’s got no reason to feel like this.  After all, Harry is the  _model_  on set, and Louis is nothing more than the makeup artist.  That’s it.  Louis can’t let himself keep forgetting his place in all this, he reminds himself.

“You’d better go on to wardrobe, or that assistant will come back and forcefully drag you out, kicking and screaming,” Louis warns, packing up his makeup kit and heading for the door.

Harry sighs, rolling his eyes as he remembers the unpleasant assistant. “I’ll be there in a second.  Go on to the set, I’ll meet you there when I need a touchup, yeah?”

Louis can’t figure out why that feels like a bit of a slap to the face, but he swallows the feeling down and walks out of the makeup room, heading over to the set.  He settles down in one of the chairs marked for the hair and makeup crew and starts to sort through his makeup kit, making sure he’s got everything.

“Shit, the eyeliner,” he groans, realizing he’s missing the eyeliner he used on Harry.  He decides he must have left it on the table, though he could have sworn the vanity was clear when he’d left.  He slumps back across the set, mentally kicking himself for being so out of it this morning, until he reaches the door to Harry’s dressing room, just in time to see Harry closing the door behind himself as he steps out.

“Sorry, I forgot something in there,” Louis says awkwardly.

Harry grins, that same mischievous grin Louis saw earlier but couldn’t quite figure out. “The eyeliner?  Yeah, I saw it.  Put it on the vanity for you.”

“Thanks.” Louis smiles, giving Harry a light pat on the shoulder. “Now on to wardrobe.”

“Right,” Harry nods, looking almost as if he’d forgotten where he needed to go next.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Harry beams at Louis, bending down to kiss Louis’s cheek. “Thanks, Lou.”  And, just like that, he disappears down the hall, off to wardrobe.

Louis swings the door open and sees the eyeliner sitting, cap off, on the surface of the vanity.  He walks over to pick it up, and glances up to see a phone number written in brown eyeliner across the mirror.  Louis can’t help but laugh as he sees a lipsticked kiss pressed right under the number in a familiar shade –  _Prostitute Pink_.


End file.
